Of Allies and Alleyways
by CinderellaAtTheBall
Summary: Draco Malfoy walks into a pub and meets...Charlie Weasley. Things take an interesting turn after that first meeting. Warning: one strong swear word. For Crissie!


_For Crissie, who requested Draco/Charlie, romance/fluff, emerald green, and making out in an alley. Happy holidays!_

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**Of Allies and Alleyways**

There was a time when Draco wouldn't have been caught dead in a pub such as this. It was dingy and grimy and it smelled strongly of piss. But it also afforded Draco anonymity while he loaded up on alcohol. No one cared who he was — or who he might have been — here. No one even looked twice at him.

After a few beers, he began to experience that state of numbness he craved constantly these days. A state where nothing mattered except the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream—

The door to the pub swung open and then shut, and Draco could vaguely make out someone's heavy, purposeful stride towards the bar. The newcomer stopped next to him to order, and he slanted his gaze over to see who it was. He almost dropped his glass when he realized a pair of brown eyes was looking right back at him.

These eyes were set into a face that was tanned and freckled. Draco's gaze slowly drifted upward, where a telltale mop of red hair sat. His stomach did a weird flip as he realized he was looking at none other than Charlie — he was the one that worked with dragons, right? — Weasley. Draco immediately looked away, hoping that Weasley hadn't recognized him, but no such luck.

"Hullo, Malfoy." The man's voice sounded almost teasing.

Draco cursed under his breath. "Weasley," he said flatly, staring down at his almost-empty glass. To his horror, Weasley slid into the very-empty seat next to him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting. Drinking. Talking to a man who looks like he needs a friend," Weasley said without a moment's hesitation.

Draco finally turned back to the red-haired man. "A friend?" he sneered, vestiges of his former snobbery finally making themselves known. "I have no need for a _friend_, Weasley, so don't waste your time."

Weasley lifted his shoulder in what Draco supposed was meant to be a casual shrug. "Everyone needs a friend sometimes, Malfoy. Even you."

"Don't sit there and act like you know me," Draco snapped. He exhaled loudly through his nose. "You have no idea what I've been through."

Weasley regarded him thoughtfully. "No, I reckon I don't. But I'm willing to listen."

Draco's voice was icy when he spoke again. "I know how much you Weasleys love to help people, but let's face it: I'm beyond help."

"No one is beyond help," Weasley insisted. His platitudes would have been almost endearing had Draco not been so lost in a haze of self-pity.

Draco offered him the smallest of smiles before downing the rest of his glass and getting to his feet. As he strode past Weasley, he could have sworn he heard the redhead chuckle.

...

The next night, Draco slunk into the same dirty pub and sat in the same place at the bar. He was so distracted by his eagerness to become numb that he didn't notice Weasley at first. The man was seated two stools down, leaning one muscled arm against the bar while he clutched a drink in his free hand. He was staring directly at Draco, who immediately felt his cheeks turn pink.

"It's rude to stare," he said pointedly, brushing an invisible piece of lint off his emerald green robes.

At those words, Weasley gave him a smirk worthy of a Malfoy. "Who says I'm staring?"

"I do," Draco hissed, wondering why he couldn't just ignore the redhead. It was almost as if he _wanted_ to keep talking to him. He really needed a drink, and a strong one at that. He waved the bartender over and ordered a glass of 100-proof firewhiskey, neat.

In the time that it had taken Draco to order his drink, Weasley had slid over so that he was right next to him. Draco raised a single eyebrow. "Careful, Weasley. One might start to think you were...following me."

Weasley leaned in close. Draco could smell the booze on his breath, but didn't back away. "Maybe I _am_ following you, Malfoy."

"What would be the point in doing so?" Draco asked. "Are you hoping to catch me doing something bad, so that you can have me carted off to Azkaban like your lot wanted in the first place?"

Weasley blinked. "I never wanted you to go to Azkaban, Draco—" Draco squashed down the surprise he felt at the use of his first name. "—and neither did most of my family. It's like you said, we like to help people. And we believe in second chances."

"Well, aren't you just a bunch of fucking saints, then," Draco grumbled, taking a large gulp of firewhiskey and wincing as it burned his throat. "Your determination to see the best in people is going to be your downfall someday."

"Perhaps," Weasley murmured, "but not tonight, I hope."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked, hating how curious he sounded.

Weasley grinned at him. "Your cluelessness is adorable."

Draco nearly choked on another swig of firewhiskey. "_Adorable_?" he sputtered. "I am not adorable!"

Weasley patted his back, and he felt the same swooping sensation in his stomach that he had experienced the night before. "Of course you aren't."

...

In hindsight, it was incredibly obvious to Draco that he would find himself pushed up against a brick wall by Charlie Weasley's rough hands, anticipating the moment when the redhead's lips would meet his. The alley behind the pub was hardly the sort of place Draco frequented for trysts, but needs must, and it was safe to say that he was feeling pretty needy.

"Weasley," he growled, struggling to release his arms from the other man's powerful hold, "stop teasing me."

"You know, 'Weasley' is a terribly unoriginal nickname," his companion said lightly. "And it's a bit unclear, too. After all, you could be referring to any member of my exceedingly large family."

"Well, I'm not," Draco huffed. "I'm referring to _you_, and you bloody well know it."

"But what's my name?" Weasley sent a dazzling grin his way, and Draco's mind went temporarily blank.

"Char—Charlie," he whispered at last.

"That's right," Weasley—_Charlie_—whispered back, finally leaning forward to kiss him. The redhead's lips were chapped, but Draco didn't care. He wound his fingers into soft red locks and tugged Charlie closer, groaning at how good it felt to have intimate contact with another human being. It had been far too long since he'd had that opportunity.

Draco felt Charlie's tongue swipe along his bottom lip and immediately allowed the redhead further access. He let out a small moan as the tongue massaged his own, and he pressed himself against the solid muscles of Charlie's chest with a sigh.

All too soon, however, Charlie was pulling away, and Draco shivered at the loss of warmth. "Don't stop," he whimpered, reaching for the other man.

Charlie stepped back and shook his head — Draco felt as though he'd been slapped. "We're both too drunk for this, Draco."

"So? What's wrong with a little mindless shagging—"

"I'm not interested in mindless shagging," Charlie interrupted. His voice softened slightly. "Not with you, anyway."

Draco felt his heartbeat stutter momentarily. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," Charlie laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. "I want to shag you, yeah, but I'd much prefer to do so sober."

"I see," Draco said slowly. His brain was racing into overdrive. Charlie had only given him a preview of what was to come, but it was enough to make him wish he was stone-cold sober. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Perhaps you could, ah, accompany me back to my house and wait for the alcohol to wear off?"

"I reckon I could do that," Charlie said with a wink.

Draco smirked and grabbed Charlie's arm. "There's no time to waste, then."

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Word count: 1,305


End file.
